Dreaming
by angelgurl161
Summary: One-shot fic. Neville Longbottom explains a little bit about his childhood and his acceptance of the absence of the two people he wishes for most in his life: his parents.


**_Title:_** _Dreaming_

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_**Summary:** One-shot fic. Neville Longbottom explains a little bit about his childhood and his acceptance of the absence of the two people he wishes for most in his life: his parents. _

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_**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling is the sole owner of all the characters and most of the plot; I have merely placed my own twist on it and made it mildly readable. _

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**_A/N_**:_ Hope you readers enjoy this story! Before going further, I have to say that my take on Neville is purely MY take…meaning that I'm not trying to drive a point home or anything else; I'm just writing a little ficlet to let my imagination fly into places I have not ventured into before. Enough with the author notes—get to reading!_

I've always dreamt about it.

When I was very young, I didn't see any difference between myself and the other children, but as I grew older, I knew that something was very wrong. When I finally asked my grandmother about it, for the first time in my life, she burst into tears, running out of the room and leaving me stupefied. I didn't quite know what to make of it.

But my questions remained. Where _were _my parents? Why hadn't I ever seen them? For a long time, I had to make do without any answers, for my grandmother was always incapable of keeping a tab on her emotions when I asked her anything about them. Eventually, I ceased my efforts of trying to get any information from her and went instead to my uncle. He told me about them, and it was then that the gaping hole in my soul came to exist.

No one brought them up again, but I couldn't stop dreaming. What would my life be like if my parents were healthy and in their sane minds? I always thought about this in a wistful manner, imagining a life of laughter, of happiness, of _them. _ These reflections would usually end up with me crying, curling up on my side as I wept pure sadness.

But it never stopped my dreams.

I half-lived in my fantasies; sometimes I almost managed to make myself believe that what I had created in my imagination was true, that my parents were coming back to me…soon, very soon. I could picture it clearly in my mind; I would open the door for them and they would pull me into their arms, hugging me tight, apologizing profusely for making me wait…for being delayed. Then they would give me the gift they had brought along from their journey, eyes alight with excited anticipation as they watched me tear open the present.

I can remember a time where these dreams got so vivid and real for me that every time the doorbell rang, I would run to the door only to find someone who wasn't the people I wanted so badly—my parents. The disappointment I felt every time this happened was so painful and overwhelming that a lot of times, I had to blink back tears, trying desperately to regain my composure. I think that after a while, my grandmother realized this fantasy of mine; I was never quite sure how she came to realize it, but the sole fact that every time I came away from the door, shoulders slumped in despair, she would send me a sad look and this confirmed my worst suspicions.

Hogwarts was perhaps the solution my grandmother wanted so badly. Though I admit that knowing I was a wizard was headily exciting, some part of me hated the idea of living there. I knew deep down in my heart that it was because I was clinging on to my castle in the sky, subconsciously hoping that it would come true. But I left to go to Hogwarts without a fight, knowing quite well that I, too, was starting to get rather scared of my terribly vivid dream.

Hogwarts was a problem in itself. People found me an idiot—they never said so, but it was very obvious—and the teachers thought I was stupid. One teacher in particular, Snape, loathed me to the point that, instead of getting hurt at his continuous cruelty—which, of course, I did—I found myself intrigued by it. I was afraid of him, yes, terribly intimidated, but I found him an enigma—he was so fascinating to watch and appraise, although I was quite content doing it from afar.

I can't say I excused his behaviour, because he pained me greatly, but I had the feeling that Snape had gone through some similar tragedy in his life to make him into such a cruel creature. I doubted, too, he was cold; I had a particularly strong feeling that he lashed out at the world to numb some pain he was feeling deep in his heart. This theory made me pity him, and I started to wonder about his thoughts and ideas.

Snape wasn't the only cause of my worries. I was terribly afraid that someone would find out about my parents; I wasn't ashamed of them, but I had the feeling that people would pity me if they knew about it, and this caused me to never mention their existence at all. Not many people really noticed my lack of speaking about them, but I think one person was quick to realize something was wrong with me.

Her name was Hermione Granger and she was probably the smartest person I had ever met in my entire life. She was very intuitive and I think she seemed to realize that there was something the matter with me. It didn't take her long to figure out that I hardly ever mentioned my parents. But even knowing this didn't make her ask me about them; she seemed to know what had happened and never broached the subject at all, though I had a feeling she was doing this only to protect my feelings.

I knew she sympathized with me, but something about her never made me mind it. Perhaps I fancied her a bit, but I was never quite sure what exactly I felt for her. She was nice enough, helping me with my homework or in Potions—where I was simply hopeless—and she always listened to what I was saying. I grew to appreciate her a lot, though we separated a bit after Third Year.

Another incident occurred somewhere in the first year—my grandmother finally decided I was ready to go meet my parents in the hospital, which was something that made me pleasantly surprised; she had refused me all my life, though I had begged and wheedled her ceaselessly. I'm still not sure whether I'm glad that I finally saw them; all my life, I had managed to persuade myself that they _were _normal and sane, but actually _seeing _them in their condition was a real eye-opener.

I remember fleeing from the hospital room after a few minutes—I couldn't take seeing them in such a condition. I was depressed for weeks afterward, though no one was aware of it, and I think it really drove the message home that I would never be able to have a conversation with them, never be able to do anything that a normal child did with his/her parents. I visited them many more times over the course of the next few years, and I cherished every minute. My mother had a habit of giving random people gum wrappers, and though my grandmother thought it highly unsanitary, I never threw those gifts away. I grew to love and accept my parents, disregarding what sort of mental condition they were in, and just enjoying their very presence.

I always think that Hogwarts has a certain magic about it—besides being _magical_ in the literary sense—because it was able to make me come out of my shell, and I think _that_ was my main reason for loving it. It seemed like I was living life all over again—I appreciated everything I saw and felt, for I was glad to sense anything other than the numbness that had been a big part of my life. Though people still considered me odd, I was finally happy. I was finally enjoying everything, and I think I was more grateful for life than anyone around me—they, after all, had never been separated from it before and had never known its absence.

I am about 16 now, and due to go back to Hogwarts in a few days—summer vacation is almost over. I have gotten over my fantasies of my parents coming back—they disappeared along with the dreams and fancies of my childhood. I know that I will perhaps always mourn their absence in my life, but I think I'll be able to make it alone.

But I think I'll go on dreaming…

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_Okay, before you guys swamp me with complaints, Heart of Ginny, Chapter 8, is almost finished. It has been beta-ed and now I have to look over the corrections and make any necessary changes; this is usually when I go into stress mode—fussing over it for hours on end, lolz. Go to my bio page for exact details._

_Now, why don't you guys write me a nice, long review to let me know how you liked or disliked this fic, and I'll be eternally grateful (or at least temporarily happy…lolz)!_

_Review, review, review!_


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